


Drunk in the Heart

by Khaleesi1379



Category: Choices: Stories You Play, The Crown & the Flame (Visual Novels)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 06:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaleesi1379/pseuds/Khaleesi1379
Summary: A soft morning between the Queens of Stormhalt. Short fluff and loose interpretation of canon.





	Drunk in the Heart

Kissing in the beams of the early morning sun.

 

Tangled legs beneath the sheets. Tangled fingers. Soft laughter.

 

A grin spreads across your face. “It’s our first time, you know.”

  
Kenna laughs, disbelief and amusement playing out in those brown eyes you could fall into. “Val, that was most certainly not our first time. Fourth or fifth last night alone, maybe.”

  
She’s laughing at you. Your brows knit together as you prop yourself up on an elbow. She’s underneath you this way, brown hair splayed out across soft pillows, brown eyes burning gold in the morning sun. She smiles up at you, and your heart clenches as it’s made a habit of doing. You smile and shake your head.

  
“Not what I meant,” you say, trailing your other hand up her hip, avoiding her eyes as you feel heat coloring your cheeks. “First time in your bed.”

  
Kenna seems taken aback for a moment. You furiously try to force the color out of your cheeks. Mercenaries don’t blush, and you sure as shit don’t. Stupid sentiment. That’s what happens when you let some princess get into your head.

  
Her hand comes up to your cheek, brushing bed-tousled hair away from your face and tangling at your temple, gently pulling against your scalp to bring your eyes back to hers. The feel of it sends a thrill down your spine.

  
“Yes,” she says softly. “I suppose it is. We ought to make a habit out of it.”

  
She pulls you toward her, on top of her, lips pressing gently against yours. You allow yourself to be pulled, allow yourself to follow her whims and desires. Hells be damned, you love this woman.  
Your heart fills to bursting again, passions surging forth as her nails scrape gently down the length of your spine. She takes your moment of distraction, hips twisting yours and flipping you onto your back. The blanket pools around her hips where she straddles you, and you’ve never seen anything more beautiful in your miserable life. Kenna Rys. Queen of Stormhalt. Liberator of the Five Kingdoms. Slayer of the Witch Bitch Empress. And she’s here. Naked, on top of you, smiling like something about you matters.

  
Your heart is hammering again, your throat going dry. Sex you could do. Hells, rutting naked in a field was something you did on the regular. But this. This meant something.

  
Orphan. Urchin. Mercenary. Your life in stages, each more grimy and bloodstained than the last. It never bothered you before now. Fighting was what you were made for, what you were meant to do. And getting paid to do it was the most you ever thought you could want.

  
But now you’re here. And you’re going to be a Queen of Stormhalt. Some ratty haired nobody with a blood-and-ale-soaked soul is going to become Queen of Stormhalt. Kenna’s queen. Kenna’s wife. And as you’re looking at her now, you can’t believe it’s you. Your callused hands grip her hips, the impossibly soft skin, holding her closer, grounding yourself in this moment, assuring yourself it’s real.

  
You’d almost lost her too many times already. And you still can’t believe you have her now.  
Those dark brows knit together above you, a look of concern. Her hand rests on your chest, feeling your heartbeat underneath her sword callused palm. “Are you alright?”

  
You swallow, wetting your tongue again and smiling up at her with as much bluster as you can manage. “I have a very beautiful, very naked woman on top of me. I’m damn near perfect.”

  
She smiles back at you, leaning down and meeting you as you surge up. Your lips crash together, rougher than you intended, but you have to get all of these feelings out somehow.

 

Might as well involve sex.

  
Firm hands push you back down. Kenna’s naked form molds to yours as she slides down, kissing a trail from your lips, across the length of your jaw, down your neck, lower, lower, lower, until you can hardly process a single thought that might be bouncing around your head.

  
All except one.

 

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  
She says it after every kiss. You can feel her smiling against your skin. Your brain wraps itself around the words, your thoughts consumed by them. Drunk in the brain and the heart.  
Some god out there must have fucked up royally somewhere along the line. There’s no way you deserve this.

  
She takes your hands into hers. You hadn’t even noticed you were clenching at the sheets until her fingers came to intertwine with yours. She smiles up at you, placing a kiss to the flat of your stomach. Her eyes lock yours in place.

  
“I love you.”

  
You don’t know when her hands left yours, but soon your own are tangled in the silken brown of her hair. Your chest is heaving, breath coming faster and faster, heart and blood pulsing in your ears. You say it back. You hardly have breath for it, but you say it back.

  
“I love you. I love you. I love you…”

  
This type of sappy shit might have turned your stomach not so long ago. You can hardly help it anymore. Drunk in the brain, drunk in the heart. Kenna’s stronger in your system than any ale. And you’ve had a lot of ale.

  
You pay her back ten times over. You show her all of this maelstrom of emotion she creates inside of you, in the best way you know how. Flowery words and pretty prose may not be you. Or manners, or gentleness, or anything resembling anything that this woman deserves. But this you can do for her.

  
It must be near midday now. You’re sure Kenna is desperately needed in about a thousand different places. But for now, you let her doze, tracing your knuckles up and down the length of her spine, the feeling of soft skin and scars.

  
She breathes softly, mouth slightly open. Little puffs of breath against your neck. Her arm is looped loosely at your waist, keeping you close.

  
Since you were a child, you’d heard stories of men throwing themselves into danger for beautiful princesses. You’d heard stories of kings sending entire countries to war for the affection of a queen. And here, in Kenna Rys’ bed with your hand caressing her back, you understand why.

  
Hells. You love this woman.


End file.
